Memories
by WingsofaFireFly
Summary: Memories are haunting. But everyone has memories. One shot. Story ID is actually 4136887


_DISCLAIMER: _I do NOT own anything. I am not nearly as brilliant minded as J.K. Rowling is. I am NOT making any money off this; it is simply a way to pass the time.

This started off as a multi chapter story, but when I started writing about club scenes and Draco hitting on Hermione I knew I was in trouble. So I turned it into a one shot. Hope you like it. 

WARNING: If you are faint hearted do NOT read this.

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"Sing it again Daddy!" The little girl squealed, "I love when you sing to me!"

The older man sighed and began to quietly sing to his daughter. "Lying here with you, listening to the rain. Smiling just to see the smile upon your face." He didn't get much further than the first verse when the little girl piped up again. "Daddy? Is that your favorite song?" 

"Yes, baby. It is." He replied, tears shining in his eyes. 

"Why?" She questioned.

He beckoned his little angel over to sit on his knee. As he started to answer memories flooded him. Good memories. Great memories. Bad memories. Funny memories. Even memories he didn't want. He didn't like talking about his past, but he couldn't see a way around this. 

"Because it was your mom's favorite song. It was the song the band was playing when I asked her to marry me." He could feel himself getting teary eyed again. "Now, off to bed little one, you've got a big day ahead of you tomorrow and you need to be well rested." 

As the little girl walked away from her father he hoped she wouldn't see the tears falling. 'I miss you. Why did you have to leave like that?' He thought, as he leaned back and let himself remember. 

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The tears rolled slowly down Draco Malfoy's cheeks as he reclined on his couch and remembered. He had no idea how long he sat there and let the memories take him to another place. He didn't fight them, he embraced them. It had been 9 years; he knew it was time for him to move on. But that was the hard part. He didn't _want_ to let go. No, that wasn't true. He was _afraid_ to let go. He was afraid to move on. But that wasn't totally right either. It was more like he didn't know how to. He'd been holding on so tightly to the memory of his wife that he didn't know how to move on. So he simply didn't. 

He embraced the memories that bombarded him; the sweet smell of her hair, the way her eyes lit up when she laughed, the first time he laid eyes on her, the night he asked her to go steady with him, the night she finally said 'yes' to his marriage proposal, the way flour always managed to find it's way to the tip of her nose when she baked, the way she looked when she came in from gardening. The just kept coming and coming and he did nothing to stop them. 

Draco stood and walked to the sliding glass door, desperate to get away but knowing that no matter where he went he would never escape. It didn't matter. He walked outside anyway. He had to go _somewhere_. Anywhere. 

Draco walked. He started off with no clue where he was going and no final destination in place. Eventually, though, his feet took him to a place he hadn't seen in 9 years. A place he hadn't seen since the day his wife was murdered. His started to fill when he saw it; the big oak tree where he last saw his wife, where he held her, dying, in his arms. He stumbled to it, collapsing to his knees when he got there. Resting his hand on the faded carvings he closed his eyes and replayed the scene. 

_He told her to wait by the tallest tree in the park at 5 p.m. He was running late and he went to the vender and to buy her a bouquet of her favorite flowers, chrysanthemums, when he heard it. A piercing shriek. His head shot up as he recognized his wife's voice screaming "NO! PLEASE! DON'T HURT ME! HERE! TAKE IT! JUST PLEASE, PLEASE DON'T HURT ME!" He took off running, he was moving too slowly. He wasn't going to get to her in time. He watched as the man stabbed his wife in the stomach; once, twice, three times. He reached her just as she collapsed and caught her easily in his arms. He slid down the trunk of the tree, ignoring the pain in his back as the sharp bark cut through his clothes and tore at his skin. All he could think about was the fact that his wife was in his arms dying. He held her even after she has whispered "I love you" with her last breathe. He held her until he was sticky with her blood. Even after the police came and took her body away he stayed. He reached into his pocket and extracted his pocket knife. He carved at the old oak until his fingers were sore. He stood up and looked at the carvings. "I love you! It's forever." _

Draco rolled up his sleeves and looked at his right arm. He traced the scars that matched the mighty oak with his finger. Reaching into his pocket he felt something. The same pocket knife he had carried with him for 9 years. He turned it over in his hands and opened it. Wondering what he was doing and thinking he had rid himself of these urges he started hacking away at his left arm. He felt himself getting weak and sat on the ground, leaning against the tree for support. Still he cut. Still he bled. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and with his dying breathe said "I love you too, Ginny."

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Authors Note: I tried to upload this the day I registered only to have my plans foiled by the 2 day waiting period that has put in place. Drats. So I did a little research and I found one of my old accounts tehe.Reviews would be nice. I'm off to read another story until more plot bunnies hit me.


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